Zoe just shrugged and mouthed, “Talk to you after class.”
When the bell rang, Zoe lost Absynthe in the mad rush as people ran off to lunch or the bleachers for a beer or weed break. When she didn’t see Absynthe by the lockers or in the hallway, she went outside and around the building to the staircase that Absynthe had led her to yesterday. Sure enough, Absynthe was there, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. Her hair looked very blue in the sunlight. She wore a black thrift-store little girl’s party dress, trimmed in moth-eaten white lace, and green-and-black-striped tights tucked into the tops of shiny thick-soled boots covered in laces and buckles. They looked like something from a science-fiction movie. Zoe smiled to herself.
“What are you smiling at?” asked Absynthe.
“I like the Aeon Flux boots,” she said.
Absynthe put her hands together with her index fingers steepled like a gun and made shooting noises with her mouth. Zoe grabbed her chest and fell against the wall like she’d been shot. When she was done dying, she leaned against the wall looking down the cul-de-sac at the other girl.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything yesterday,” Absynthe said. “About the kiss thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Zoe. “It’s fine.”
“We still friends or whatever?” Absynthe asked. The question surprised Zoe. It was funny thinking of Absynthe as uncertain about something.
“We’re cool,” Zoe said. “I’m much more tweaked about other things today.”
“Then come over here and tell me about it.” Absynthe sat on the steps in front of an old fire door and patted the space next to her. Zoe came over and sat down.
“So what’s the big deal about today?”
Zoe sighed. “Aside from being grounded, I need to see someone and get back to school before my mother gets here later.”
“Is this about your mystery man?”
“Which one?” said Zoe, and laughed ruefully.
“There’s more than one? Damn, girl. Here I was thinking I was corrupting a little suburban girl and you’ve got a secret harem.”
Zoe leaned back against the pockmarked surface of the fire door. “I wish it was that simple. There’s one guy I’m worried about helping and another I just have to deal with to do it. And I want to finish this all up today so it’s over with and I don’t have to see him anymore.”
“Then why don’t you just go? Do the deed and get back before your mom’s any the wiser?”
Zoe shrugged. “I wasn’t before, but now I’m a little weirded out by the guy.”
“Did he hurt you?” asked Absynthe. There was real concern in her voice.
“No. He never did anything but what I asked him. But he’s always been a little weird and yesterday someone warned me about him.”
“Maybe you should take the advice and forget about this guy.”
“That’s the problem. I can’t. He has something of mine, and I really need it. I don’t know what I’ll do if I didn’t get it back.”
Absynthe puffed the cigarette, dropped it on the ground, and stubbed it out. “Then do it fast and do it now. It’s daytime and people aren’t as crazy as they get after dark. Don’t chitchat, just do what you have to do and get out.” She leaned forward on her knees and clasped her hands together. “I can wait for you. If you like.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Zoe. “I’m probably blowing this way out of proportion. Like I said, he never did anything to me and he could have. I’m just being a big chicken.”
“ ‘Hope is the thing with feathers,’ ” said Absynthe.
“What?”
“It’s an Emily Dickinson poem about not being afraid, even in the middle of a shit storm.”
“Wish I had feathers like that.” Zoe hadn’t pictured Absynthe as a big reader or someone into poetry at all. And if she did read poetry, not Emily Dickinson. Bukowski maybe. She set the thought aside as one more thing to ask her about when she had Dad and was free of Emmett. “It’s been a weird few weeks, you know? Even weirder since we came here.”
“Please.” Absynthe let out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t go playing innocent with me. I know your dirty little secrets now.”
“No, you really don’t. But I might tell you. Tomorrow. When it’s done.”
“You sure you’re going to be all right? Endings for stuff like this can get kind of messy.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all settled except for this one thing.”
Absynthe lit another cigarette. “Tell me what you want when you want. I’m all ears.”
Zoe snapped the rubber band on her wrist.
“When it’s over, I will.”
Before she ditched school, Zoe went into one of the bathrooms, locked herself in a stall, and got out the straight razor. When she’d cut herself before, it had always been with skinny little double-edge blades she’d shoplifted from the mall. She’d never used anything like the straight razor, and the sight of it now-big in her hand, a tarnished metal blade with a bone grip-made it even more intimidating. It still carried a faint scent of her father’s aftershave. She didn’t want to do anything to spoil that, but she knew that this was the price she’d agreed to.
She tugged at the rubber band on her wrist, but she didn’t snap it.
Zoe wondered if Absynthe ever cut herself, or let someone cut her. She knew kids who gave each other ritual scars, mostly because they were too young or too broke to afford professional tattoos or piercings. Absynthe, she thought, might have been fierce enough to play games like that. She might even have offered some of her own blood so that Zoe wouldn’t have to cut herself. Why not let her, if she offered? Zoe had fooled Emmett once. She could do it again. But the bell had already rung and Absynthe was gone, back to class. No option there. No option but one.
Her arms were off-limits, she knew. Just the thought of it brought back bad, dark memories of the days before and the weeks after her father’s funeral when she’d cut herself just to feel a different kind of pain for a while. In the stall, Zoe undid her pants and quickly, without giving herself time to think about it, made a shallow slash across the upper part of her left leg.
She took a few sheets of toilet paper and dabbed up the blood. It was only a surface cut, but Emmett said that all he wanted were a few drops, so she thought it should be enough. When the blood stopped flowing, she wrapped the red-blotched sheets in more toilet paper, pulled up her pants, and stuffed both the razor and the bloody paper in her pockets.
When she left school the hall clock said it was one-thirty. That meant she had to be back in no more than two hours. She walked quickly down the familiar, inexplicable path that always led her to Emmett’s. Before, the walk had always seemed timeless and Emmett’s shop had always magically appeared in front of her, right on cue. This time, however, the walk felt like it took forever. Zoe grasped at every vague landmark. A pink awning on a Laundromat. A shuttered bodega. When she saw a little church with Korean characters on the roof, she started running and kept running until she saw the shop.
She stopped for a second to catch her breath, then went and pushed on the front door. It was locked. The sign in the window said CLOSED. Zoe cupped her hands and peered through the glass. As always, it was cave dark inside, and she really couldn’t see anything but the counter and the first few record bins by the door.
She banged on the glass with her knuckles. The door shook and rattled, warped and loose in its ancient wooden frame. After knocking for a minute or so, to her relief, Zoe saw Emmett coming from the back of the shop. He unlocked and opened the door, but only halfway.
“Yeah? What do you want?” Emmett asked.
“Hi. I’m here for my dad’s record,” said Zoe, still a little out of breath.
Emmett stared like he’d never seen her before. “What? Your father made a record? Was he in a band? What was it called?”
“No. My dad’s record. The one where his soul lives.”
“Hey,” said Emmett, “I don’t know what you’re on, but I don’t have time for this.” He started to close the door, but Zoe caught the edge and pushed her way inside. The two of them stood across the empty space by the front counter, just looking at each other. Zoe was breathing hard and Emmett stared at her blankly.